


One Last Task

by RogueVigilante



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Memory Loss, Non-Graphic Violence, Post Season 5, Returned AU, Suicide, someone had this really horrible idea and i had to go with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22707529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueVigilante/pseuds/RogueVigilante
Summary: Occasionally when someone dies in an act of selfless heroism, whatever God or Fate is out there before you are claimed by The End can restore your body, return your soul to the world of the living. Some say it was a way of honouring their act, others believe it was because they still had a part to play in the grand scheme of things, while a few folk whisper that they come back with a new purpose. But whatever the reason, they called those chosen the Returned.Only the Returned lose all their memories while being brought back.Jon sacrificed himself to save the world. Now both Jon and Martin have to live with the aftermath.
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 22
Kudos: 123





	1. He was Jonathan Sims

**Author's Note:**

> So this was based off a concept from the Sanderson novel, Warbreaker. 
> 
> For those who know the story, I did take some liberties with the Returned (namely not needing Breath and coming back as a perfect replica of who they were). For those who don't, the summary is basically all you need to know.
> 
> I've already got a memory loss story surrounding those tapes, so I'm making a point to not use them. Sorry:) However, hopefully I wont take too long getting the whole thing up.

They told him his name was Jonathan Sims, Jon for short.

They told him his story; told him about the Eye, The Magnus Institute and everything that happened. That he gave his life to save the world and because of his sacrifice, he’d been chosen to Return. They even had the tapes to prove it, which they helpfully leave behind.

He didn’t listen to those tapes.

He didn’t remember any of it.

That was the way the world worked. Occasionally when someone dies in an act of selfless heroism, whatever God or Fate is out there before you are claimed by The End can restore your body, return your soul to the world of the living. Some say it was a way of honouring their act, others believe it was because they still had a part to play in the grand scheme of things, while a few folk whisper that they come back with a new purpose. But whatever the reason, they called those chosen the Returned.

Only the process for Returning wasn’t perfect, stripping those who were brought back of all their memories. They retained the skills and some of the knowledge they knew before their death, but it took time for them to remember how to use it, often spending the first few weeks and months in a helpless daze as a result. There were places that people could take the newly Returned so they could learn those things again, taking the pressure off their loved ones who survived. They were supposed to stay for a few weeks, months, until they could act normally again and be collected by those who dropped them off. Sometimes though, they never returned, their loss too painful.

* * *

_The click of a tape starting. Static._

_Footsteps moving quickly, running almost. Breathing rushed. A hollow sound._

* * *

The first few weeks? months? are a blur for Jon. Nursing staff assisting him, helping him remember how to move and eat and talk again. He has visitors. They say their names are Melanie, Basira, Alice 'Daisy' and Georgie. His friends from before. They would come almost every day and sit by his side to tell him tales of his past. Telling Jon who he used to be, waiting and answering his questions with patience, although he could tell that they were frustrated sometimes with how little he knew anymore. He guesses that’s why some days they left early.

There was someone else too. Jon couldn’t really remember their face very well, but they were there at the beginning. Sitting beside him and holding his hand while talking in a soft voice. It was in the early days when his mind was still struggling to figure out everything behind a thick fog. All Jon could figure was that this person was close to him in a way the others weren’t. But this person hadn't returned in a long time. The nurses had explained once that they were still grieving his death. That sometimes it could be painful for them to sit and watch an echo of someone they used to know struggle to remember their own name. Jon understands. There’s a hole in his head, his entire past nothing more than a bedside story told to him by four women he should remember.

Daisy says the man's name is Martin, and he was Jon’s boyfriend.

Jon doesn’t remember and Martin doesn’t return.

* * *

_“Jon, I don’t know what’s going to happen but…”_

_“We can do this Martin.”_

_“Yeah. Yes, we can”_

_A door slides open. A few footsteps._

_“Jon. Martin. I’ve been Watching. Waiting for you.”_

_“Jonah Magus.”_

_Sounds of movement. A weapon being drawn._

_“Well then, let’s begin. If you think you can defeat me?”_

* * *

Jon returns to his apartment he abandoned a long time ago. Thoughtfully someone had already been through with a vacuum cleaner and a duster, cleaning the surfaces from the thick layer of dust he can only imagine. Barisa and Daisy leave him with a farewell, a list of phone numbers and a promise that they will check up on him in a day or two. Then they are gone and for the first time in a long while, Jon is alone.

He walks room to room, fingers trailing over the tables and walls. His apartment is small and cosy, simply decorated. The only thing of interest is that every picture of a face in his book covers has the eyes removed. Melanie had explained this, fiddling with the edges of her own blindfold. Elias and The Eye had been using eyes to watch them all. Jon had been the first to remove them, before eventually moving into the Archives on a more permanent basis for his own safety.

He eyes the small collection of photographs in the box on the table. Jon guesses that whoever cleaned his house had found them and moved them out for him. Inside is a few photos of an elderly woman who Jon doesn't remember, and a few old polaroids. One of the polaroids is a collection of four people at an office party. Jon recognises himself, younger and scar free, grumpily dragged into the middle and surrounded by three smiling faces. At a best guess, these would be Martin, Tim and Sasha; the three Archival Assistants that he had unknowingly dragged into everything. He guesses the woman is Sasha, but he can’t tell the other two apart. There’s a happy note from a forgotten time in the white frame at the bottom.

There are a few more photos stacked neatly to the side. Jon’s face is older, bearing the scars he supposedly got in a worm attack, smiling. There is another man, face also beaming as they take photo after photo together. Martin. Out of the few that are in the box, most are simple domestic photos, poorly taken and a little shaky. The rest are of this Martin, cooking, writing, sleeping under a simple blanket with his arms splayed everywhere. Jon holds a photo of them together for a long time, thinking. He guesses he should feel something, anything. But he doesn’t and the face before him is that of a stranger, the memories in this box died with him. He packs the box back up and puts it in a back corner of a cupboard, the memory of Martin’s face already fading into fog again.

* * *

_The sounds of a fight, a struggle. Voices calling out. Jonah. Martin. Jon._

_Someone calls out in pain. Martin shouts something intelligible._

_More fighting._

_“Jonah!”_

_“No. No. No.”_

_Jonah screams. Panting from the survivors._

_“We won.”_

_“Yes Martin. Yes we did.”_

* * *

The next few days are spent alone. Jon doesn’t mind at first as it gives him time to properly think about everything that has happened to him. Gives him a chance to get his head together. Now that he is out of the home, he can appreciate the silence of everything. The low hum of cars passing occasionally on the street outside, the gentle pattering of light English rain, the whistle of the kettle. He spends a lot of time sitting on the couch, staring out at the world outside with a hot drink in his hands and an untouched book by his side. Thinking about nothing in particular.

Daisy visits a few days later, sitting next to him on the couch with a cup in her hands. She spoke in a soft voice, small updates on things before her voice falls away to nothingness. They sit in silence for a little while and take in each other’s company, although Jon guesses this is more for Daisy’s sake than his own. Still, he can’t deny that it is a nice feeling. Every time he talks to someone from before, there is a look of loss and sorrow as they see the face of the person he was. But here and now was a simple ritual that held no blame, no loss. Eventually Daisy spoke, the quiet voice echoing through the apartment.

“Martin wants to meet you.”

“He does?” Jon responds in surprise.

He’d not tried to contact Martin since Returning. The others had told him that he was closest to Martin, and the nurses had let him know that loved ones sometimes needed space to grieve. They’d also told him that Martin and he were the ones to run off together and alone to confront Elias at the end of the world. Alone with only each other.

That, according to Martin, Jon died in his arms.

Jon didn’t know how he died, and Martin had been tight lipped with everyone about what had happened, so all they could tell him about was the aftermath. Martin covered in blood, injured, staggering and cradling the lightly breathing body of Jon in his arms. Like all newly Returned, Jon appeared unharmed and in perfect condition, although his clothes had born the obvious signs of a battle with Jonah Magnus. His old scars had stayed, but the new ones had faded with his wounds. Martin was crying, whispering slightly in his ear as he walks through the dark corridors of The Magnus Institute, ignoring the carnage around him. Martin had been the one to stay by his side, refusing to leave him to the care of the nurses in the early days.

But Fate is cruel in its selection, and when Jon looked at him without recognition, Martin had crumpled. He’d left and not returned, shutting almost everyone out of his life. Lonely once again. It had taken the joint effort of everyone to get him out of the house and to a therapist who specialises in the loved ones of the Returned. Apparently, this was their idea. A chance for closure. A chance for Jon to understand that part of his life.

Jon accepted. Martin would come around tomorrow.

That night Jon dreams. An empty black sky, white cracks running across its face. A figure in front of them, their face unrecognisable through a thick grey fog, except for the yellow eyes that shine through it. Jon isn’t sure, but there is definitely more than two. Then he wakes up, and the dream fades.

* * *

_“The Eye. It’s still here. They’re all still here.”_

_“But Jonah’s dead?”_

_“I know. I thought that would do it.”_

_Silence._

_“Martin. I’m going to use it.”_

_“Jon. No!”_

_“We need to know how to stop The Entities.”_

_“Just promise me you won’t kill yourself doing this. Promise me you’ll be ok.”_

_“Martin.”_

_“Please Jon.”_

_“I promise.”_

_A pause. Heavy breathing. Jon gasps in surprise._

_“I can see it Martin. I know how we can win.”_

* * *

Martin arrives a little after noon. Jon sees his shadow walk to the door of the apartment, turn around, turn back, then knocks. Jon takes a breath, waiting a few moments before approaching the door and opening it. Martin stands there, a little damp from the rain, and Jon doesn’t recognise him. It wasn’t the nonrecognition that came with change, but rather that the person who stood in the doorway was a complete stranger to him. Every time Jon had opened that box of photos, spent hours studying the face of the man he had supposedly fallen in love with, the minute the box was gone, the memory of his face faded again within moments.

“Martin,” he stumbles for a moment. “Um… Come in. Tea?”

“Yes please,” Martin responds as he stares at Jon’s face for a few seconds too long. He’s looking for something he cannot find.

Jon gestures inside and moves to put the kettle on as Martin sits at the small table. There’s silence in the apartment, although this one is far more awkward than the silence Jon has grown used to. Only the whistle of the kettle leaves any sound in the empty rooms.

“How do you take your tea?” Jon asks eventually as the kettle clicks off.

“Dash of milk, three sugars.” Martin responds quietly.

Jon obliges, and is shortly bringing two steaming cups of tea to the table where Martin sits. He sits opposite, pushing the mug towards Martin. Martin takes the mug and holds it in his hands as he stares down at it, not taking a sip. Jon holds his own mug and lets the warmth seep into his fingers.

“So… How’s everything going?” Jon eventually says to Martin as he takes a small sip. It’s mildly too hot.

“Fine. Everything is fine.” Martin responds without looking.

The conversation drifts into silence once again, Jon not knowing what to say. It seems that Martin is waiting for him to initiate the conversation, to say the right thing. But Jon doesn’t know what it is or what to say to the stranger in front of him. They may have had history in his past, but Jon knows it’s gone now. From his side anyway. So instead they sit in silence until Martin finally speaks.

“You know, you look so much like him.”

“Well, I am Jon,” he responds with unsure words.

Martin gives a small humourless laugh at this, accompanied with a sight shake of the head.

“No, you’re not.”

Jon wants to respond, wants to say that he is Jonathan Sims, who Returned upon his death. But he can’t. Not for any reason other than Martin’s face looking into his own, eyes staring with grief. This is not the right moment for this conversation. Instead Jon looks at his tea as he responds slowly.

“Ok. So, what happened to me? To Jonathan Sims?”

Martin pauses, considering his words carefully.

“He broke a promise.”

There’s a hint of a tear in Martin’s eye as he says that. Jon opens his mouth to say more, but Martin isn’t done, speaking on with rising anger in his voice.

“He broke a promise and died. And that would have been hard except then you come back with his face and voice. Christ, you sound exactly like him, look and act the way he did. But you’re not him. You’re just some thing that got sent back by whatever is doing this and every time I see you, I see him. I see the man I love look at me like I’m a stranger because you remember nothing. You know, I wish you had stayed dead because this, this is worse.”

With these words, Martin stands up suddenly, hands raised to his sides in a gesturing motion. All Jon can do is stare at the outburst that makes perfect sense. Martin pauses with a few deep breaths and reaches into a small shoulder bag. Inside it is a single tape in a tape player. He pulls it out and places it on the table between the two of them. Jon waits in silence. When Martin speaks again, his voice isn’t yelling anymore, but rather filled with grief.

“I keep listening to this tape over and over again, hearing your voice for the last time. Hearing the static right before you… you… So take it. It’s yours and I can’t keep listening to it. I can’t keep holding onto you. You died and I can’t keep pretending that you came back. That you’re going to come back. So, when I leave, don’t try and contact me. Please. You died, Jon and I want it, I need it to stay that way.”

Eternity hangs between them, each waiting for the other.

“Ok,” Jon responds.

He doesn’t know what else to say. Martin’s right, the Jon he was is gone. He isn’t Jonathan Sims. All he is is what Jonathan Sims left behind. A shell with no memories. A reminder. It was easier for the others with their friendship, but Martin was special and the fact that he couldn’t even say goodbye properly was tearing him apart with grief. He was right, this was a mistake. Jon stares at his tea for a long time.

When he looks up, Martin is gone, his tea untouched.

Jonathan has the same nightmare again.

* * *

_“So how do we do it.”_

_“The lynchpin. The thing that’s allowing the Entities to stay here. It was never Jonah Magnus.”_

_“So, all we need to do is destroy it.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Jon…”_

_Sounds of shuffling. Someone is looking for something. The sounds of an embrace. Footsteps from a single person._

_“Jon. What are you doing?”_

_“It’s me.”_

_“No…”_

_“I’m sorry Martin.”_

_A grunt of pain. Someone running. Martin screaming. Static. The click of a tape ending._

* * *

Daisy said she’d be around later. Apparently, Martin wasn’t talking to anyone anymore and she was worried for the both of them. He lets her know he’s leaving the door unlocked and she should just come in.

He doesn’t listen to the tape, instead he leaves it on the table with a note.

_I’m sorry but I’m not Jonathan Sims. I just need time to myself to think, to figure out who I am._

With that, Jon leaves.


	2. Identity

Jon intends to go to the station. To pick a train at random and go somewhere. Anywhere. Book a few nights in some cheap hotel and just get away from everything. Just figure out who he is now. All he has with him is his phone, a charger, his wallet and a ring of keys. The keys to the apartment are on it, along with numerous other he no longer recognises. Ones he will probably never use again. He'd thrown it all in the pockets of his coat before he’d left without even a change of clothes.

Martin was right, he wasn’t the Jonathan Sims that they all saw. He is nothing more than a reminder and a bad memory and a conversation that lies heavy in his thoughts. The funny thing is, he can’t even remember what Martin looks like anymore. It was like with the photographs, the minute Martin left his vision then his face fades once again from memory, lost in a thick fog. Then again, Martin had told him to stay away, so he doubts that he will ever see that face in person again.

Maybe that is the reason he is running. Not for himself, but for the pain and grief he saw that his body was leaving behind. The hole in that singular heart. Perhaps that’s why he might one day intend to stay away forever, to never return to London and his old life.

But despite all this, he doesn’t. Jon doesn’t get on a train. Doesn’t book a ticket. Doesn’t run away.

He just sits in the station, staring at the ever-changing sign and watching the numbers and names flicker and replace themselves. People come and go, sitting on the bench beside him to talk to each other in muffled voices. Replacing themselves with someone new more times than Jon cares to even notice. Its like the sign in its own little way.

He doesn’t even know how long he sits there, but the sun was low in the sky by the time tiredness weighs upon his eyes. Maybe it was the staring, the constant blank in his mind, or just the passage of time that cases his head to droop and his eyes to close.

He’s dreaming again. He’s in that same space that he was in before, although this time cool concrete walls surround him on all sides. The roof is open, revealing again that pitch black sky with its cracks of white light. In front of him stands the figure of thick fog with its crown of yellow eyes. It takes effort, but Jon manages to tear his eyes away from that singular figure to see the rest of the room around him. He’s not alone. In one corner slumps a figure Jon knows he should recognise; bound, bloody and probably unconscious. In another and old man with his eyes torn out. Jonah Magnus? Beside that body stands a second figure, also bloody and injured, but with a smile like honey. 

There’s a knife in Jon’s hands now, his chest wet with blood. His blood? Above him, the cracks in the sky spilt and widen, revealing that pure white light. It engulfs him as he jerks awake. There’s a quick intake of breath as he looks around the station, only just now realising how late it has gotten. The dream fades to nothing more than a few images. The bloody smile of a stranger. The bound figure. The fog with its crown of yellow eyes. Shaking himself from the last echoes of the dream, Jon realises he’s alone on the bench, the sign in front of him flickering with the last few late running trains.

He stands slowly and stretches. His phone died hours ago and he has no desire to return to his apartment. Instead he walks, out of that station and into the busy London streets. Despite the people and the crowds, Jon is alone as he walks, feet following no path in particular as he wanders this way and that. The crowds thin out until they are little more than singular strangers on the other side of the street. It’s quiet out here, peaceful in a small way as the sun fades into night.

Jon doesn’t even realise where he is until he looks properly. From initial glance he appears to be at the entrance to an old but well-preserved building. A small plaque to the left of the glass doors indicates a visitor’s entrance and hours one may enter. The sign above the door reads in a neat script, The Magnus Institute.

Jon stares that the sign for longer than he cares to remember. How had he ended up here of all places? How had he wandered to the doorsteps of his previous life in his effort to abandon it all? He still refuses to listen to the tapes and had no idea where the Magnus Institute resided. Yet here he was, staring at the entrance. Was this some grand thing that was part of the reason he’d Returned? The nurses had told him that some people believed the Returned still had some grand part to play in the universe, but Jon never really believes it. He didn’t feel like he came back with a purpose.

Despite everything, Jon pulls out the small ring of keys and starts trying them at random. One works, opening the door and revealing the inside to the Institute. Luckily there are still a few lights on inside. Jon guesses that there may be some late-night researchers doing their studies, which he is promptly relieved about when he eyes a small keypad to the side of the door. He definitely didn’t remember any combination to deactivate the alarm. Still unsure where to go, he walks, pick identical and unfamiliar corridors at random.

There’s a small flight of stairs heading down to a lower level. The Archives, Jon guesses. He doesn’t follow that path. He’s not going into the Archives right now, that’s too close to who he was. Instead he picks another corridor at random, heading until he reaches a flight of stairs up to a higher level. He follows them, ducking past a lone researcher who wanders past with a cup of some hot liquid. There is a small stare as he ducks past them, probably because he hasn’t returned to this place in a long time. Although it might be more, a history he doesn’t know he has. At the end of the corridor is another set of stairs by the door to a small kitchen. The light sound of talking echoes into the corridor, accompanied by the ding of a microwave. Jon doesn’t enter, instead going up the stairs. Up here appears to be more corridors lined with doors, some baring small simple brass nameplates. Jon runs his fingers over them and reads the names as he passes, each one unfamiliar. All except for the one at the end.

Elias Bouchard.

Jon remembers what Melanie had told him about the current body of Jonah Magnus and all the pain he put them through. She herself bares the scars under a thin strip of fabric. Jon never asked to see it and Melanie never took it off. According to what Martin had told them, Jonah Magus was finally dead, killed in the heart of the Panopticon. It was strange though, that the Magnus Institute still held his name on the door though. Perhaps the Institute staff had no idea about his death and thought he was taking an extended vacation somewhere. Or perhaps they’ve just not found a replacement yet.

The door is unlocked, and Jon slowly opens it to reveal a nice but orderly room. In the middle sits a desk, covered with a few neat stacks of paper, a slick looking computer and two abandoned mugs of tea. Behind it is a rather extravagant comfortable chair. Jon smiles to himself, realising that it is not only late, but he still needs somewhere to sleep tonight. The chair would do nicely. He was sure the old Jonathan Sims might have different opinions on the whole situation, but he is someone new and that chair looks comfortable.

On the other side of the desk was a small, simple chair; obviously for whatever guest he had had last. There was a similar looking chair pushed up to the side of the room next to a large filling cabinet. On the other side was a small bookcase with some interesting looking books of various ages rested against a few tasteful artefacts. Behind the desk was two large windows, the blind currently drawn but the night still visible through their thin fabric.

Jon approaches the desk, running his fingers over the dark wood. Surprisingly, the wood is clean and free from dust. His fingers move towards the stack of papers, general reports by the look of it. The one on the top was recent, most likely left for a return that would never happen. Right now, Jon didn’t feel like riffling through the paper properly, so he leaves them alone. Sighing slightly, Jon goes to move the cups of tea. Perhaps, if he waits a bit, he will have a chance to go down to the staff kitchen and brew himself a mug. Maybe see if The Magnus Institute has a communal biscuit stash, after all, he hadn’t eaten since breakfast and the hunger is returning. But as he touches the mugs, he pauses. They’re cool to the fingers, but not the icy cold of long abandoned tea. Someone has been here recently.

Worry flashes through his mind as Jon drops the mug back down onto the desk and taking a few steps back before he calms himself don. They must have found a replacement, or a temporary head of the Magnus Institute. Looks like he might have to find somewhere else to sleep. In fact, this entire idea had been a dumb one and he should just find a hotel somewhere near here. A hotel and a cheap food place. Shaking his head at his own folly, Jon steps backwards again, his foot clattering against something on the ground. A knife.

Picking it up, Jon stares in confusion. What’s a knife doing here? The he notices the leg of the desk, and the small patch of blood staining it. Fresh blood. Worry returns to Jon as he steps back again, a conclusion forming in his mind. The door, the desk, the tea. Perhaps it wasn’t just some interim or replacement head. Perhaps it is the head of the Magnus Institute. Elias Bouchard, or Jonah Magnus, had survived.

He turns and runs. Back through the corridors, back down the stairs, down into the Archives. They’d told him about the twisting tunnels that lead to the Panopticon beneath the Magnus Institute. They’d spoken of the trapdoor in the Archives themselves. Jon didn’t know where it is, and he took a wrong turn on more than a few occasions, but somehow, he still quickly found his way there. It is unlocked and Jon descends into the tunnels.

He has no idea which was he is going, no idea how to reach the centre. But he can’t stop now. If he is right then whoever is with Jonah might be in danger, might need his help. And if not, then he had a body to destroy and an over-reactive imagination. Jon turns left, then right, then right again. A small stitch is building in his side as he continues his flight through the tunnels, but he can’t stop now. He doesn’t even stop for the small sense of dread building as he continues to run. If it is Jonah, then the last time they fought, he died. The others didn’t know the details and Jon refused to listen to that tape, so anything could have happened. There is even a brief thought of slowing down, turning around and warning the others of his suspicions. Coming with back-up. Then Jon remembers the blood and quickens his pace.

Right. Straight. Left. Left again. Another right.

Jon is lost, unsure where he is or where he is going. All he can do is run. Then Jon reaches another junction. He wants to pick one at random, keep running. But he also knows now he can’t move blindly, not with time possibly being of the essence, not with the worry building about what he saw in the office could mean. So instead he stops, looking between the two paths for some difference, anything that could aid him. He spots something, a small skid in the dust and the dirt, as if something was dragged through here.

Jon starts running again. He spots a drop of blood more marks in the dirt. Now he knows what he’s looking for, he can find a path. Left. Down the stairs. Left. Right. Straight. A few times he takes a wrong path and must turn back, must stop and quickly examine the route to re-find the path.

Straight. Right. Right again. Left. Straight. Through the door at the end.

Jon bursts out into a large open space with a tower standing in the middle to watch over everything. The Panopticon. He’s done it. He’s found the centre of the twisting tunnels. Even then he still stops to take in the formidable sight before him. In front of him is a narrow walkway leading to a door in the side of the tower, and a set of metal stairs that wrap themselves around the building. He doesn’t look down to see the drop below him as he runs to the tower and up opens the door. Inside is a room of concrete. Empty.

Jon runs up the stairs, almost taking them two at a time, his feet loudly clanging with each footfall. If anyone was here, they would know that he is coming. The stairs wrap around the building, stopping at another walkway and door before continuing upwards again. Jon slides the door open to reveal another empty room. This one however also appears to have windows, thick with dust and impossible to see through. Jon keeps moving up the stairs. There’s another door, another empty room.

The next level was the top of the tower. From his vantage point, Jon can see the entirety of the space around him. He can see the rusting doors and iron cells that circled around the tower and down into the darkness below. There’s a strange nauseating power to his view, as if he were a God surveying a ruinous domain. It was a view that Jon could stare at for eternity without realising it. But he doesn’t have the time, shaking his head and breaking away from the edge. So instead he turns and slides the door open.

This room is not empty. Inside it stands a man, well dressed and smiling, despite being covered in several bruises and scars. He stands with a slight lean to his left and a slight hunch forward. But that didn’t stop the dread that creeps through Jon’s bones upon seeing this stranger, with a smug expression with a hint of a venomous smile. There’s something familiar about this fellow about this whole scene. Then Jon remembers the dream he had had only a few hours ago but felt like nearly a lifetime. It was the same scene. The smiling stranger, the concrete wall with the windows nearly invisible under a thick layer of dust. To one side, Jon sees an elderly body slumped with eyes missing and old-fashioned clothes.

That would mean the figure before him must be Elias Bouchard. Or Jonah Magnus, although that name might be reserved for the eyeless body in the room. Jon had never asked for a description of the person who had ended the world once, but there were few other people this could be. He was right, and that isn't a good thing. His eyes scan the room, taking in everything else. On the other side to the eyeless body lies another figure, bound and unconscious with a nasty looking wound on the side of their head. A figure familiar to Jon, although it still takes a few moments to place.

Martin.

Jon stares in shock. What was Martin doing here? How did he get here? Why? It couldn’t have been a trap from someone, Jonah hadn’t left any obvious clues that he was alive and had Martin, it was only dumb luck and blind worry that brought Jon here today. Jonah is still standing before him, watching in the few moments it takes for Jon to see the scene around him.

“Jonathan Sim. I Saw you Returned.”

Jon’s attention snaps back to Jonah. That confident smile looking at him as if this entire encounter has been planned this way from the beginning. Despite Jon’s arrival, despite the knife in Jon's hand, Jonah is still confident he is in control of the situation and Jon’s not sure is he’s wrong.

“Now, as much as I want to catch up, I’m a busy man and I have things to do. So, let’s make this quick.”

Jon knew with those words that he had a few seconds. Melanie had described in too little detail the power that Jonah Magnus has, and even then, there was a shake to her body as she mentioned it. But all Jon has right now is a knife. He guesses he could charge at Jonah, but a surprise attack wouldn’t be unexpected, and he doubts his own abilities. In fact. He doesn’t know them at all. It is known that the Returned kept the skills they had learnt in their previous lives, and maybe Jonathan Sims had been an excellent knife fighter. However, he seriously doubts it. Especially since Jonah was the one to have probably killed him.

All he can do is look around the room, scan in a few moments of desperation. The room is too familiar to him, although not from the dream. He’d been here before. He already knew that he and Martin had gone down to confront Jonah once before, but now he is standing there in that moment. The knife is still in his hand and the room looks the same, but Martin is before him, smiling. The smile is so warm, so hopeful, that it makes Jon’s heart melt with happiness and guilt. Near him lies the bodies of Jonah Magus and Elias Bouchard, dead. At least, that was how they appear, although Jon knows better now. And on him weighs the knowledge of what he’s just learnt from the Panopticon. The he is the Lynch-pin, the door that is allowing the Entities access to this world. Martin’s watching him.

“Jon. What are you doing?”

“It’s me,” Jon answers as he raises the knife in his hand to stare at it. It’s beautiful in its own way.

“No,” Martin breaths, understanding what Jon’s about to do, face falling in panic.

“I’m sorry Martin,” Jon says, pain and love in his voice.

Then there’s a sharp pain in his chest where he runs the knife into it. He’s aiming for the heart, and he knows his strike is true. The last thing he sees before everything goes white is Martin’s face as he charges towards him, screaming something Jon cannot hear. Then everything is gone.

All Jon sees is that white space, but for how long he doesn’t know. It could have been hours, days or even mere seconds. Then, in an instant before The End can claim him, Jon sees through it all, sees the future playing out in rapid succession. He sees Jonah rise, not dead and ready to try again, although the body of Elias is badly injured. He sees a stranger, the new Archivist, imprisoned and protected as they open the door once again. He sees the world fall into the never-ending ruin of fear. He sees Daisy, Basira, Georgie and Melanie, his friends, dead. And Watching over everything he finally sees Jonah Magus on his throne with a crown of yellow eyes and in a new body Jon recognises. It is the same as the face in the fog. The same one he’s been dreaming of. Martin, with a venomous smile of honey.

That was the moment Jon starts screaming, begging the void to let him go back, let him save Martin. His voice is raw and painful, but he doesn’t stop. He’s pleading, begging whatever is out there to let him Return.

It agrees.

Then Jon is back, staring at the form of Elias, a few brief moments having only just passed. Jonah is staring at him with a smile, trying to figure out exactly which bit of information he wants to use to stop Jon in his tracks. Jon can guess which one he’ll use. He needs to act now, needs to move quickly, needs to stop Jonah before he takes Martin. But he has no plans, no ideas, and he’s not sure he can take on Jonah despite Jonah’s wounded body.

There’s only one thing left he can do.

“I have a deal for you,” Jon says, trying to keep his voice steady.

Jonah looks quizzically at him. Jon continues before he can say anything in response.

“If you let Martin go. If you promise that you will not harm him, ever. I will stay here. Willingly.”

He stares at Jonah as he says this, trying to stop the nervousness or worry in his voice, trying not to look at Martin. It’s a desperate gamble, but the only one he can think of. Jonah looks in surprise at Jon. Whatever Jonah as expecting, it isn’t this. After all, the intention behind what Jonah is planning is exceptionally obvious and they both know what Jon offering to stay means. Jonah thinks for a moment before responding.

“Now why would I accept that?”

It’s not a question Jonah needs to ask, but they’ve now entered a game against each other. A conversation with consequences that could change everything. The problem is that he does have a point, why would Jonah accept such a bargain. What can Jon offer him? All he knows is the vision of the future and the world Jonah is planning to unleash that he was shown. He will be unstoppable, because those who could have stopped him a second time have fallen. But to do that he would need to strike quickly, something that no stranger to any of them could achieve. His entire plan depends on either the body of Martin. Or Jon. Suddenly Jon knows the reasons why he has to accept.

“Because you plan to try again,” Jon says, surprising himself with how level he can keep his voice. “To find a new Archivist and bring the Entities back. Except the others, they know about you and they know how to stop you.”

Jon knows they don’t, knows Martin never told them. But Jonah is never going to take that chance.

“Your current body is injured,” he continues. “And you need a replacement. But if a stranger arrives at their door then they’ll get suspicious and they might figure out you’re back. They might fight and you might lose. You need someone they trust. Martin. Or me.”

Jon knows that he’s guessed correctly. He wasn’t sure how he could tell though, perhaps it was the slight smile on his face growing thinner, the constant stare that makes Jon feel that Jonah is messing around inside his head. He could be, for all Jon knows.

“I already have Martin, Jon. Why would I let him go for you?”

Jon’s fingers tighten around the knife in his hands. Jonah sees this and smiles wide, his voice smug as he misunderstands Jon’s silent threat.

“Do you think you can fight me alone?”

“No,” Jon replies honestly. “But I don’t need to kill you, just stop you.”

His eyes flick to Martin, who stirs a little in his binds. He is waking up now, slowly fading into consciousness. This time however, Jonah understands the implication of what Jon’s saying. Understands that Jon won’t be targeting Elias's wounded body, but the bound body of Martin instead. His heart aches with the memories of Martin’s face in his kitchen yesterday, the brief memory he has from before he died. But compared to the future he saw; death isn’t so bad. He just wishes that Martin is still unconscious enough to not understand what is going on.

“You’ll attack Martin?” Jonah’s voice is full of surprise. He isn’t expecting this, but knows that unlike if Jon attack him directly, he has a chance of succeeding.

"I Returned. I don't remember him," Jon nods. The whole idea fills him with dread and betrayal, but he is telling the truth.

This response causes Jonah to pause for a moment, clearly thinking, weighing his options. Seconds pass between them like eternity. Then Jonah nods.

“Very well then. I accept.”

Jon’s shoulders sag with relief. He’s done it, he’s protected Martin one last time. The knife falls from his fingers, the clatter echoing though out the Panopticon, and a weight that he didn’t know he had rises from his chest and leaving him feeling lighter. He lets go of a breath he didn’t know he is holding.

“Can I say goodbye?” Jon asks, looking at Martin. He’s definitely conscious now.

Before Jonah can nod in approval, Jon is quickly moving towards Martin. He looks fine, aside from the hint of drying blood on his temple.

“Jon. What are you doing here?” He asks groggily.

“It’s going to be ok Martin,” Jon finds himself replying as he unties Martins binds and helps him up. Martin leans on him unsteadily, glancing at his surroundings before remembering his predicament.

“Jon. It’s Jonah he’s…”

“I know Martin,” Jon interrupts as he leads him towards the door. “It’s going to be ok. But you need to run.”

“Jon…”

“I’m not Jon,” he gives out a small laugh as he says this. “He died. But he also sent me back here to protect you. Like I said, everything will be fine.”

There’s a strange peace as he says this, as Jon finally accepts internally who he is. He’s known since he saw Martin that he is not Jonathan Sims, but rather an echo wearing his face. But now there is the knowledge that he is a final wish of desperation sent back into the world of the living to protect the man he loves. An answered prayer yelling at a void. He knows what his brief future will be, but it doesn’t matter because Jon knows that in this moment, he has done enough. Martin will be safe.

There is that guilt though. The guilt that one day Jon’s friends will have to face him as enemies, the knowledge of the pain he will be putting them through one day in the future. It would be easier if he could take on Jonah now, save both their lives. Something inside him knows that that may not work, and he doesn’t want to risk it. Martin looks at him, looks at Jonah, as he begins to figure out what is going on. His face falls in realisation and protest.

Jon does the one thing he can do to distract him. He kisses Martin.

Their lips meet and lock perfectly, Jon letting instinct guide him as he almost collapses into it. Martin instinctively does the same in surprise. For a brief moment, eternity lies between them as they share this together. Then Jon pushes Martin through the door, the shock stumbling him as rushes to catch his feet on the walkway before looking up at Jon in panic. With a tear in his eye, Jon slides the iron door closed and latches it shut.

Martin bangs loudly on the other side, calling his name. Jon tries to ignore it as he turns to face Jonah. He’s still standing there, Watching the whole situation play out with nothing more than mild interest. But now it’s over, and they both have a task to do. Jon slowly kneels before him, looking up at the bruised and injured face of Elias that is covered in Jonah Magnus’s smile. He sees a knife in his hands, a plain and simple thing that glints in the little light in the room. There are no words between them, there doesn’t have to be. Even Martin’s calls have faded into silence. Jon takes a deep breath and nods, not breaking eye-contact with Jonah.

The last thing Jon sees is the knife. The last thing he hears is his own screaming echoing throughout the Panopticon.


	3. Those left behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. Sorry this took so long. I blame life.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the aftermath. And I guess this was a lot longer than intended, so there'll be one last chapter soon.

Jon’s screams echo though out the Panopticon, the iron door barely muffling the sound. It rebounds, copying and overlapping with itself to create a discordant harmony, so that even when it finally falters into silence, the sound remains for a few moments more. And there is nothing Martin can do about it, his fists still uselessly banging against the door and his throat already hoarse. He collapses against the door, leaning, hoping, praying to get through it. To save Jon. But there is nothing he can do except listen to that final dying scream of the man he loves.

Then there's silence. A peaceful, ominous silence that clouds around Martin like a thin mist, stealing the little sound he can make away. It softens the sounds coming from the other side of the door, which in itself is an unintentional blessing. This is something Martin didn’t need to hear. Instead the silence coils around him, feeding on his rage, his anger, his panic and leaving him empty. Leaving him with that final image of Jon’s face as he closes the door. Leaving him with the knowledge of what is happening right now. Leaving him with little more than grief and loneliness. Martin doesn’t even care that he recognises it; doesn’t care as the Lonely takes him away from this place and into its embrace.

The gentle lapping of the cool water washes over his hands as the empty shoreline fades into view. Martin just sits there, staring at the sand beneath him. He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to do anything. Martin’s not sure if that’s the Lonely talking to him or the voice of his own steadily beating heart. It would be easier to sit here forever in isolation, in the still and numbing fog, wallowing in his grief and guilt for eternity. After all, this is all his fault.

If he hadn’t been so angry at everything after finally talking to Jon yesterday. Angry at the universe for taking the one good thing he had away from him. Angry at the injustice of it all. Angry at the fact that Jon still lived and walked and couldn’t remember anything about the man he was, couldn't remember snuggling together beneath a blanket with Martin falling asleep on his shoulder back in Scotland when the world was perfect. Angry at Jonah for taking it all away from him.

Angry at Jon for abandoning him.

He’d grabbed that web lighter Jon had carried for so long now and headed for The Magnus Institute, intent on burning the Archives to the ground. Jonah was gone, and that was the one place that still stood as a monument to everything that he had lost. Even the cool afternoon breeze did little to dampen his resolve, so by the time he finally arrived at that looming building, Martin was gripping the lighter tight. Despite everything, he didn’t want anyone to get hurt and planned to pull the alarm after the first blaze had been set. He’d never even gotten that far.

He’d arrived at the stacks of boxes, the dusty statements cluttered around the Archives, and stood there. Trapped in the memories of the past. He was opening the door the Jon’s office with a nervous flutter to his heart and a cup of tea in his hand; he was sitting on a chair, laughing along with Sasha at a joke Tim had told; he was crouched at his computer looking for more information about some inconspicuous false statement.

“Martin?”

A voice had interrupted him, and Martin turns to face one of the sectaries. He didn’t remember his name, but knew he worked on the top floor. Martin had turned to face him.

“Elias would like to speak to you.”

Those words had stunned Martin, unable to even speak. Elias was alive? Did that mean Jonah had survived or was his body free from his control. Martin didn’t know, so he just nodded and headed towards the stairs. He could do with something to hit.

It was Jonah, alive and injured, who sat on the other side of the table. There were two cups of tea, done exactly the way Martin preferred, resting on the desk. Jonah had offered him the opposing seat, which Martin refused. They’d spoken briefly before Jonah had stood up, walked next to Martin and swung a fist into the side of his head. The rest was a blur, fading in and out of consciousness until he was in the Panopticon for some unknown reason, Jon’s voice now added to his strange surroundings. Martin couldn’t tell what he was saying, but Jonah seemed to have accepted something.

Then Jon’s face was there. Jon, looking concerned and relieved and he gently wiped the blood from his temple. Martin didn’t even care for his anger and confusion, seeing Jon rescue him from whatever this was made everything seem okay. Made Martin almost forget what had happened to Jon previously. It had taken him a few moments to realise where he was. Realise exactly why he was here. What Jon had agreed to. But it was too late because the second he figured it out, Jon had kissed him and shoved him out the room to take his place. 

And he knows Jon did that for him, sacrificed himself so Martin would be safe. But if Martin hadn’t gone to the Institute, hadn’t gone to Elias, Jon would still be here. He still sees that face, sad and accepting with a slight measure of a smile at the same time, the farewell tear in his eye. His words about how he isn’t Jon now hurting Martin, despite flinging those words back at Jon what felt like so long ago. He was Jon, that reckless moron who threw himself into danger without thinking. The man Martin fell in love with. But even that’s gone now. Replaced by something far worse. 

Jonah.

Martin slumps in the sand, tears falling now. There’s nothing he can do, nothing he wants to do. He can’t turn back time, can’t change anything. Can’t do anything but sit and let the tears roll down his face. The Lonely still smothers him like a blanket, dampening even the grief and guilt to leave him empty. Martin knows he could sit there for all eternity, wait until he fades into the fog, so he doesn’t have to feel the truth again. The thing is, he desperately wants to just disappear. With Jon gone, there is little reason to keep on going.

But that's wrong. At least Martin thinks that's wrong. There were others, other friends that Martin had once had. Their faces nothing more than a pale fog, obscured by the Lonely; and their names little more than words on the tip of Martin’s tongue. 

He doesn’t care.

Martin had felt this way twice now. Once, after Jon had died and Returned and when it was clear that all memory of Martin was gone. He’d wanted to slip into the Lonely forever, let that gentle tugging on his soul finally claim him. But somehow, he’d resisted it. Maybe it was that small hope that Jon’s memory would return, there were stories of it happening after all. The other time was so long ago now, when Martin and Peter had braved the Panopticon together. Jon had saved him, brought him back.

But Jon isn’t coming to save him this time. Jon already came to save him.

Thinking this brings a small measure of clarity to Martin’s mind. Jon would want him to live, to not fade away into the Lonely. If he couldn’t do it for himself, maybe he could do it for Jon. Even then it’s still hard for Martin to rise to his feet and take a few steps out of the Lonely, but somehow, he does it. His feet stumble as he walks to into the fog, pushing it from his mind and allowing it to open back into reality. He’s still in the Panopticon, still staring at that closed iron door. It’s silent now, and Martin doesn’t know if he wants to barge in. He feels like he should be banging and screaming and trying to find a way in.

Yet at the same time he knows in his heart that Jon is gone. That small flicker that had remained when life had filled his lungs once again had finally gone out. He knows that if he goes through the iron door then he will be facing a Jonah wearing Jon’s face. Something he’s not ready for yet. So instead he turns, and takes slow, heavy steps into the tunnels and back into the Magnus Institute.

Outside the world still functions as normal. The cars still trundle by, the trains still running. It’s late in in the evening now as he walks home in the cool air. It’s not right. It’s not right that everything is normal for everyone but him. It’s not right that Jon’s screams are still in his head. The walk itself takes hours. He could have caught the train like he normally did, but he needed to walk the streets and be away from people, caught in his own mind and trying to forget. Be Lonley. The people around him would laugh and talk and act like the world hadn’t just shattered. Because for them, it hadn’t. They hadn’t just watched the love of their life die again to save their life.

By the time Martin returned to his small apartment, it was late. He wanted a cup of tea and to curl up into the couch in an attempt to forget. Jon was already gone from the apartment. He’d made sure of it after he’d Returned, when the anger and pain of his survival was still fresh. But now, with Jon truly gone, Martin just wishes he’d been more kind. Wishes he’d spent more time with him, trying to see past the blank expressions of someone pretending to care. Stuck in his own thoughts, Martin nearly misses the ajar door to his apartment. Someone is already inside.

Taking a deep breath, Martin pushes the door open slowly and steps inside. He might not be the best fighter in the world, but the apocalypse has taught him a few tricks. Inside, the hallway is dark, a faint light spilling from the door leading into the combined kitchen and dinning room. Cautiously, Martin approaches and slowly opens the door, hoping it’s a friend.

It’s Jon.

Except it isn’t. The once hazel eyes that were filled with humanity have been replaced with a cold, calculating bright green. He sits poised, hands in front of himself and back straight in a way Jon never held himself. He now wears a suit, accompanied by an empty smile and a neat ponytail.

Jonah Magnus sits before him, wearing the body of the man Martin loves. Martin doesn’t know what to do. Whether to charge at him or stand still or leave. Whether to yell or say nothing at all.

“Martin, take a seat,” Jon… no Jonah says. 

Christ, it sounds so much like Jon it hurts. Martin doesn’t move, standing there with ragged deep breaths and trying not to panic or fall apart in grief. He nearly succeeds.

“Very well,” Jonah continues “I feel we need to talk.”

The last word is said with a sneer that chills Martin to the bones. He knows exactly why Jonah came, and the only reason Martin hadn’t already called someone else was because Martin was never good at watching the battery on his phone.

“What do you want Jonah?” Martin responds, his voice shaky. Not playing his full hand always seemed the safe option to Martin. Still, the pain on his face is clear enough that Jonah can’t miss it.

“To talk. And give you a warning.” Jonah responds, seeing through Martin’s play. He never was very good at hiding things from Jon, even if Jon was sometimes too blind to see it.

“About what? The fact you’re still alive and wearing Jon’s body?”

Jonah smiles wider, the smile still not reaching his eyes. It’s so unlike Jon that Martin can almost pretend that he’s not looking at Jon. Almost.

“Yes,” Jonah continues plainly. “You see, when Jon offered me his body, he made me promise that I did not harm you. I agreed. He should have been more careful with his words.”

He pauses briefly, letting the words sink in with a smirk. For a moment, Martin’s confusion is evident. It made sense that Jon had said that, so what words were Jonah smiling about. It takes him a few moments to realise, although in his mind the time seems to stretch into infinity. Harm. That’s a physical description. Jonah’s strength though was never his physical ability, but the way he pulls the painful truth into you. Jonah waits patiently for him to figure it out, smiling as he pieces it together. He may have even put it in Martin’s head himself, drawing him to this conclusion.

Jonah stands and walks towards Martin slowly. Martin takes a step back instinctively, letting Jonah reach the door. Standing at the door to the room, he pauses and stares coldly, the full power of Beholding behind those piercing eyes.

“I know far more about Jon than you ever did,” he says with all traces of warmth gone. There is cruelty now in the voice, overlayed with a curiosity that dares Martin to ignore his next words. “And I know exactly the truths to show you that would leave you in a far worse state than last time. Especially since I’m now Jonathan Sims. You won’t tell anyone about me, and I will leave you to live your life however you choose. Tell the others and… well I don’t think I need to elaborate.”

With that he turns and leaves, leaving Martin to collapse on the floor.

He doesn’t know what to do, what to think. He knows that Jonah’s threat is genuine and has an idea of the damage he can do. After all, the scars of the last time Jonah ‘talked’ to him still bear heavy on his soul. Jon and the Lonely had helped ease it, but that didn’t make it a pain Martin thought he could face again. Falling to the side, Martin lay there not wanting to move. He didn’t even know when he drifts into an uneasy sleep.

The pale sunlight and the sounds of traffic wake him. He’s still on the carpet in the dining room and still doesn’t want to move any more than he did last night. Seeing Jonah as Jon had hurt more than he’d realised. Still, he can’t lay there forever. Dragging himself up, Martin stumbles to the kettle and turns it on. He wants to forget about last night, wants to pretend it never happened. But he can’t. He has a choice to make. 

So, he stands there, deciding. On one hand, the other need to know about Jonah, about Jon. But Jonah’s threat scares him and if anything, Martin never wants to see Jonah again, the memory too painful. His mind flicks between the two possibilities, letting him tune out from the world and from yesterday. It was nothing more than a painful distraction. At some point he goes through the motions of making himself a cup of tea that he doesn’t end up drinking. Time doesn’t seem to pass at all, except by the time Martin realises that he’s still thinking about it, the tea’s cold. He’s decided what to do.

Leaving the tea, he picks up the phone and flicks through the contacts, settling on Melanie and Georgie. Not letting himself doubt his actions, he hits dial. The phone rings through. Once. Twice. Three times before a voice answers.

“Melanie King speaking.”

“Melanie, it’s Martin,” he quickly breaths out before he loses his nerve. He goes to keep speaking but she starts talking.

“It’s nice to hear your voice again. What’s this about? Jon’s here for tea and biscuits so please take your time.”

“Jon?” Martin stutters in panic. “Melanie, you have to get out. That’s not Jon!”

On the other end of the phone, Georgie suddenly shouts and there's the sound of breaking. Melanie calls out her name as a crack sounds, someone dropping the phone, and the line goes dead.


	4. Martin and Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is. The final chapter that was twice as long as it was supposed to be.  
> Enjoy
> 
> (also CW: Emotional Abuse)

Martin drives like he’s never driven before, and still it’s not quick enough. The mid-morning traffic still seems to crawl below the speed limit. Every traffic light turns red before it’s plausible for Martin to drive through. That didn’t stop him running through more than one red light, tickets weren’t important right now. Again and again he tries to call them, but something must have happened to the phone as it always went straight to voicemail. At least Jon isn’t answering, but even that slight relief doesn’t stop the silence from conjuring images in his mind. Melanie and Georgie dead. Jon standing with Jonah’s smile. He presses the acceleration peddle a little harder, weaving between two more cars.

It still takes him at least 20 minutes to arrive at their street block. Parking somewhere that definitely isn’t legal, Martin runs up the past the houses, hoping he remembers the number correctly. He doesn’t. It takes him a few tries, and if Georgie hadn’t installed a little ghost shaped doorknocker a while back, he would have run right past it several more times. The door is unlocked as he barrels through, calling out their names in mild panic.

“We’re fine.” Georgie calls back out from the living room.

Skidding to a halt as he runs in, Martin looks at the two women sitting in the trashed room. The coffee table is shattered across the floor, and one of the small recliners is upturned. Blood splatters across the carpet and furniture, mixing with the dirt and shards of an upturned pot. In the middle of the mess sits Georgie, deep gashes on her arms and side, covered by several red bandages. Melanie holds a rag to her shoulder as she leans against her girlfriend. Both of them look tired, injured and raring for a fight. Martin lets out a deep sign as he visibly sags with relief. They were alive. Rushing over to help them, Georgie waves him away with a small scowl.

“Alright Martin. What is going on?”

Martin sits and leans against the upturned couch, not looking at the two of them and opting instead to look at the floor. Suddenly, he doesn’t know the right words to say. It wasn’t that he couldn’t explain, but rather now in this moment when there is no danger from Jonah, speaking it aloud solidified its reality. He can sense both Melanie and Georgie watching him.

“Jonah got Jon,” Martin eventually says.

Martin doesn’t see their reaction; he just keeps staring at the floor. The memories of yesterday, of Jon leading him out of the Panopticon, the kiss, Jonah in his apartment, fill his head and threaten to crash around him. Now that the terror and grief and panic has finally started to subside, it occurs to him in this moment how tired he is. He’s tired and done with the loss and the heartache. But he also knows that this isn’t over, that by sitting here, he’s still involved. He doesn’t regret his choice; he just wishes he’d never had to make it.

“We know,” Melanie responds. “But what is going on Martin? You told us Jonah was dead.”

Martin takes a few moments to respond, choosing his words carefully. But there was no avoiding the truth.

“I thought he was too. Turns out he survived.”

“And Jon?”

“Elias was pretty badly injured, and Jonah needed a new body. He got Jon.”

He knows they know he’s not saying everything. But there’s nothing else he wants to say. Everything else seems not only personal but let’s them know that it is all his fault. If he hadn’t gone to the Institute, Jon would still be alive today. Looking up, he can see the two women looking at him in a combination of sadness, suspicion and overlying rage. He hopes it’s directed at Jonah. 

“What else happened?” Melanie asks. She knows that there’s more to the story, and she’s not letting Martin get away with that explanation.

“What happened to you?” Martin responds in a feeble attempt to change the subject, gesturing at the room. Georgie gives him a flat stare.

“Martin.”

“It’s not important, okay,” he responds, his voice breaking a little. “Look, Jonah got him and there was nothing I could do to stop Jon.”

Jon. He’d said Jon. The word had just slipped out of his mouth without meaning to, despite all his efforts to not. Georgie and Melanie’s faces soften a little bit as he says his name, almost understanding that the memory going through Martin’s head is painful. And they’re right. Martin can’t get that image out of his head, the door sliding closed as Jon tearfully turns to face Jonah for the last time. A silence falls upon them all and Martin’s not willing to give any more of the details, and Melanie doesn’t think she should push him further. It doesn’t stop them clearly wanting to ask for more. Or even an explanation.

“So, what now?” Georgie eventually breaks the silence, looking at Martin.

“I’ve still got to warn Barisa and Daisy. Jonah might be coming for them.”

“And then?”

“And then what?” Martin gives a little laugh with that. “Go after Jonah? Try and take him down again?”

“We can’t let him live,” Melanie intercedes. “Not after everything he’s done. Everything he’s probably going to do. He ended the world. He murdered Jon.”

“I know. I know. It’s just that…”

“You don’t want to see him,” Georgie interrupts. 

Martin nods. Seeing Jonah yesterday was painful, and he wasn’t even pretending that he was Jon. It was those eyes, that smile, the posture that all screamed to Martin that something was wrong. But even if he was strong enough to face the body of the man he loves again; Jonah’s words still hang in his mind.

_“I know exactly the truths to show you.”_

Ever since his initial confrontation against Jonah when the gang went to stop The Circus, Martin had been slightly afraid of Jonah. He’d somehow kept it buried beneath his rage, desperation, loneliness and love. When Jon had called on the full power of Beholding, Martin had seen the same glimmers that he had noticed in Elias. And sometimes he had been afraid, but not because of the powers, but because he might lose Jon to the Beholding. After they’d saved the world, he’d lost Jon to be facing a man who couldn’t even remember who he was. Now he is facing a Jon whose heart and soul have been carved away, replaced by something worse than Martin’s deepest fear. It wasn’t just that Jonah is Jon, but that Jonah is also what Jon could have become if he wasn’t so desperate to try and hold onto his humanity. If Jon was any less Jon, this is who he could have become.

Martin hates the idea. But at the same time, he knows that is he doesn’t stand against this, if he lets Jonah keep on living, then Jonah will keep wearing Jon’s body. As much as it scares him to see Jonah again, it sickens him to imagine Jon being disrespected in such a way. In that moment, Martin makes his choice, he might not want to help but he must. For Jon. He weakly smiles at Georgie.

His phone vibrates once, indicating a message. Pulling it out, Martin sees it’s from Jon. It’s just an emoji of an eye, accompanied by two words. 

_I’m waiting_

Martin stares at the phone, the simple emoji eye on the message preview staring back. He can feel his breathing staggering a little bit.

“Martin. Are you okay?” Georgie asks.

He doesn’t respond, anger starting to rise as he begins too look for Daisy’s and Basira’s phone numbers. Basira doesn’t pick up, so Martin leaves her a quick message telling her to call him and warning her to stay away from Jon. However when he tries Daisy, she picks up. Martin decides to invite her round to Melanie and Georgie’s place before he tells her, mostly because he doesn’t know how Daisy will react. She’d been keeping the Hunt under control for a while now, but even Martin knew that the power still calls her back.

While they wait for Daisy to arrive, Martin and Georgie start to clean up the mess and get the room back to normal while Melanie puts on another pot of tea. By the time Daisy arrives, just over half an hour later, the room looks almost respectable, apart from the blood stains on the carpet. Daisy doesn’t miss that. She also doesn’t miss Georgie’s bandaged arms and Melanie’s bandaged shoulder. She takes a few deep breaths, visibly trying to calm herself down.

“What happened?”

“Jon,” Martin responds. He needs to be the one to tell her. “Jonah survived. He’s taken Jon as his new body.”

Her face curls into a snarl, her eyes brightening to yellow. The Hunt emerging, calling her to track down Jonah and tear him to pieces. Martin isn’t so sure he should stop her. But having her charge off right now to hunt down Jonah is probably not the best idea. It took the lot of them working together initially to defeat Jonah, so it wouldn’t be any different now. Georgie gestures for Daisy to take a seat, scrunching herself into her girlfriend’s lap to make room. Melanie puts her arm around Georgie. Daisy does not take a seat but starts pacing back and forth. Martin opens his mouth to offer her a cup of tea but decides against it.

They sit in silence for a little bit, watching Daisy pace as she takes deep calming breaths. Eventually she sits down in the empty space, looking over at Martin.

“I listened to the tape you left Jon,” she says almost softly, although there is still anger deep within her voice. “I had no idea.”

The tape? It takes Martin a few moments to remember what she is talking about. Then he remembers and closes his eyes. He didn’t know if Jon had listened to it, or how he felt about someone else knowing exactly what had happened. He’d always been vague when the others had asked him, letting them believe Jon died in the scuffle. It was easier than facing his grief and anger. He looks at Daisy.

“That’s not important right now,” he responds quietly. “We need to figure out what to do about Jon… Jonah.”

“Do you have a plan?” Daisy asks.

“No.”

“Well the easiest thing to do would be to kill the body of Jonah Magnus,” Daisy says. “That way he dies.”

“The problem is finding it,” Martin says. “Believe me, the tunnels are difficult to navigate, even with the help of the Eye.”

They sit in silence for a moment, thinking.

“Could you find it Martin? You’ve probably been in those tunnels more times than the rest of us.” Georgie asks.

“Maybe. I don’t see what other choice we have.”

“Okay, so we go into the tunnels, find the body and kill Jonah properly this time.”

“But Jonah knows the tunnels,” Daisy says. “Like last time, we’ll need something to keep him occupied. Otherwise he’ll see us going in and just beat us there.”

“We could destroy some statements like last time,” Melanie suggests. “Daisy and I can have that honour while Georgie and Martin brave the tunnels.”

Daisy smiles at that suggestion and Georgie wraps her arms around Melanie, silently asking if she was sure. Melanie smiles back at her with certainty. 

“But Jonah has two eyes,” Daisy suddenly says in realisation. “We’ll need a second distraction. Preferably someone to face Jonah directly.”

The group falls silent, each looking at each other and not wanting to be the one to volunteer. Melanie looks uneasy, remembering her last encounter with the power of Jonah Magnus. And Martin knew that Daisy had always been afraid of that power, ever since Elias had pulled her past out from her. That left Georgie, who might have some immunity this ability to it due to her unique situation, but it didn't sit right with Martin. That left one option.

“I’ll do it.”

Martin knows that he’s the only one who can. The only one who would reasonably be able to distract Jonah while the other went into the tunnels to find the Panopticon. The thought of facing Jonah again terrifies him, but he’s trying hard to hide behind a brave face. He’s faced this before and he can face this again. At least, he hopes he can. The others look at him in concern.

“You sure?” Melanie asks.

Martin nods, not trusting his words to say something else. The truth is, he’s not sure and the thought settles in the bottom of his chest like a heavy weight. But he knows there is no other option that makes sense. Especially since he can use the text message as a plausible excuse. He hasn’t told the others about it and has no intention of doing so.

“But I’ve never been in the tunnels,” Georgie says. “And isn’t the centre supposed to be nearly impossible to find?”

They fall into silence once again, each one thinking hard. Suddenly Melanie straightens up, an idea having evident formed.

“We could try and talk to Helen. She’s been in those tunnels for a long time and could probably lead us to the centre.”

It’s a desperate idea, but it’s the only one they can think of without tracking down a map before is changes again. And it makes sense. It also helps that Melanie and Helen had a positive relationship with each other, and if anyone could convince her to help them, it would be Melanie.

“Looks like you’re with me then Mel,” Georgie says warmly, kissing her on the cheek.

It’s a simple façade, one to try and stop the mood of the room from dropping too much. A slight distraction from what they are planning to do. The scene is a little painful to Martin, reminding him of Jon and Scotland, although he pushes that feeling away. But despite this, it seems to work slightly as the four of them look at each other. They could wait for Basira to contact them, but nobody knows how long that would be, and then Jonah would have more time to observe them, to prepare and defend himself. They had to act now. Looking at each other, they all nod, ready for the next steps.

_______________________________________

It’s late afternoon by the time Martin arrives at the Institute. They had all decided that he should go in separately, followed shortly by Daisy as another distraction and Martin’s ‘back-up’, although she would start causing some light destruction in the other corner of The Archives. That would allow Georgie and Melanie to sneak in and find the tunnels without detection. It seemed a good plan at the time, but now looking up at that looming building, Martin isn’t so sure. Still, the others were counting on him. Taking a deep breath, he steals himself and enters the Magus Institute for what he hopes is the last time.

As he walks, he feels the familiar presence of Beholding watching him. But it’s too late to turn back now as he walks up the stairs, his feet on autopilot and his mind not paying attention to the direction anymore. The Institute itself isn’t as busy as it used to be, and quite a few faces are new to Martin. Despite this, he still finds himself walking past several researchers and accountants he used to work with. A few people wave with pleasant greetings, colleagues he hasn’t really seen since he started working for Peter Lucas. He gives small waves back but manages to keep himself from getting dragged into conversations. Nervousness building in his stomach, Martin keeps walking, only to find himself face-to-face with a door. The plaque on the door reads: Jonathan Sims, Head of the Magnus Institute.

Seeing that plaque instantly pulls Martin out of the little corner of his mind that he’d fallen into. Before his mind can spiral any further however, a familiar voice calls out from inside.

“Ah Martin. You’re here. Good. Come in.”

Taking a deep breath, Martin enters, fingers unintentionally curling around the gun he’s carrying in his jumper pocket. Daisy had given it to him, one from a concerningly large collection in her car. He’d initially not wanted to take it, but all three women had insisted. After all, he was facing Jonah, and given everything they knew about him, she’d wanted him armed. Martin eventually had relented to be polite, although fully intended not to use it. Now though, he’s not so sure. There was something almost comforting about it as he walks into the room to face Jonah.

Seated behind the desk is Jonathan Sims. He sits the same way Elias used to, all presence with bright green eyes that watched you. He smiles his familiar smile that is so unlike what Jon’s used to be.

“I told you not to tell them.”

He doesn’t need to stand, but his words fill the room. They rise behind him, a pressure looming above them all. It almost seems to shade his face, leaving those gleaming eyes and honey smile. It takes everything Martin has to not take a few steps back. Martin’s fingers tighten on the barrel of the gun in his pocket. Jonah sees this and his smile widens slightly.

“Is that a gun, Martin? A gift from your friend Daisy no doubt, who I know is currently sneaking around in the Archives. So we’ll make this quick, then I can deal with her before she does any more damage. After all, Jon’s protection only spreads to you and I’ll have more time later.”

The thought of Daisy and Jon meeting each other snaps Martin out of the small trance he’d put himself in. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Opening them, he stares straight past Jon, right into the face of Jonah Magnus, knowing what is about to happen next.

“Do your worst.”

His voice is full of pain and anger. He’s back in this office, just realising Jonah survived. He’s in the Panopticon, watching Jon stab himself to save the world. He’s falling as Jon pushes him out of danger and trades his life for Martin’s. It could have been him there in the throne of the Magnus Institute, sitting and watching his friends scramble to stop him. Instead he is here, facing the man who killed the man he loved. The one who thought it would be okay to take Jon's body as his own. Anger bubbling, Martin stares at Jonah in defiance, waiting for his move.

Jonah looks at him and his face softens. His expression shifts from the calculating one Martin has come to associate with Jonah to something far more familiar. His figure slumps slightly, as he looks at Martin almost warmly. In that instant, aside from the green eyes, Jonah looks like Jon used to. Jon stands, and walks slowly towards him. Martin somehow stands his ground, although his anger starts subsiding at seeing Jon. He knows it's not him in his mind, but that familiar face makes his heart miss a beat.

‘It’s going to be okay. You knew this was coming.’ He lies to himself, repeating those words over and over again in his head. A mantra. Jon walks towards him, the way he used to in Scotland, the way he used to when they were together trying to undo the apocalypse. He raises a hand to Martin’s cheek, gently running down it the way Jon used to as he looks up at Martin. And like that, Martin can’t see Jonah anymore, only Jon. A tear runs down his cheek.

“Do you know how much pain you put me through, Martin?” He asks softly, the voice falling the same way Jon’s used to. It’s not Jon. It’s Jon. 

And Martin knows.

He can see the pain and depression Jon went through while he was trying to stop Peter Lucas. Coming back to find everyone he cared about dead or gone. And Martin, the person he was beginning to understand just how much he loved, rejecting him at every turn. The pain that his decision to try and protect Jon had caused him. The lies he whispered to make it hurt less; that Martin had some plan; that he needed to trust Martin. Little things he told himself to make the pain briefly go away. A desperate attempt to fight the growing knowledge in Jon’s head that Jon was alone. That he was nothing more than a monster, charging headfirst into things because if he failed, nothing would miss him. 

“How much sorrow could have been avoided if you’d just said something. Anything. I needed you and you weren’t there.”

And Martin knows that everything Jon went through was avoidable. If Martin had said something, done something, then Jon wouldn’t have destroyed himself this way. Martin had known about some of this scaring, but his connection to the Lonely had blinded him to its full extent. Blinded him to the pain that he should have known about. The pain he should have tried to stop. But he didn’t.

Jon’s fingers intertwine with Martin’s hand. 

“That was all your fault Martin.”

Martin’s breath hitches. This isn’t Jon, this is Jonah speaking with Jon’s face. But Christ, it sounds so much like him. It is him. It’s Jon. Around him, whispers of fog begin to swell into the corners of the room, The Lonely coming to reclaim him. And Martin wants to let it, wants to fall into its depths once again, only this time to never emerge. After all, why should he stay here? He collapses to his knees, hand still entwined with Jon’s. Jon follows him down and leans in close.

“And then I listened to that tape.”

The tape where Martin confronted Peter in the Panopticon. The tape where he mentioned that once he’d lost Jon, he figured that joining up with Peter was just a good way to get killed. And Jon saw that as his own fault, showing him just how much he blamed himself for putting Martin through that. The crushing guilt Jon felt weighs down upon him in an endless torrent. The doubt and belief that everything Martin went through was all his fault. It tears at Martin’s heart, knowing this. He wants to scream, to yell at Jon that he’s wrong. That none of this is Jon’s fault. But the words die in his mouth as he sits on the floor in the pile of emotions Jon has shown him. He can’t move, he can’t do anything. It's all too much. 

The Lonely curls around him, calling for his embrace with the promise of quietening his heart. Martin looks at Jon, tears steaming down his face, defeated. Jon stands, his warms smile widening into a familiar one of honey and casual interest. Jonah’s smile. The eyes a vivid bright green. And like that, Jon was gone again. But from his place on the floor, Martin can’t drag up the effort to care anymore. All that pain and guilt pulling him back into the fog, this time forever. And he lets it. He lets it wash over and claim him. Jonah walks towards the door before stopping and turning with a small smile. 

“Did you really think that trick would work on me again Martin?” Jonah’s smug tone has returned now, slightly muffled to Martin’s ears. “That I wouldn’t keep my other eye on what is happening in my Institute? I’ll deal with Georgie and Melanie after I’ve dealt with the dog damaging my Archives.”

They’ve failed then, and Martin doesn't think he cares anymore. He can’t find the strength to move or do anything to stop Jonah. In the back of his mind, he hopes that Daisy is strong enough to stop Jonah. Or that Georgie and Melanie do a better job than Jon and he did. Jonah pauses, hand on the doorknob, thinking for a moment. Then he turns back towards Martin.

“It’s not wise to try and stop a Hunter without a weapon,” he says as he takes a few steps back towards Martin.

The gun. It’s still in his pocket and his hand is still tightly grasped around the barrel. Pulling it out, Martin looks at the sleek dark grey coating on the gun. He’d almost forgotten he’d been given it. Jonah reached down, obviously intending to take the gun from him. Then he’d go down to the Archives and shoot Daisy. Then Georgie and Melanie. Martin’s friends. That thought brought a spark to Martin’s mind, pushing back the fog slightly. The guilt returned in full force, bringing a fresh wave of tears to his eyes. But Martin tries hard to ignore it, to focus only on the gun in his hand and what it could do. Looking at Jonah, Martin raises the gun and flicks the little switch on the side that Daisy pointed out.

Jonah stops and stares for a moment, his face falling blank. He doesn’t know if Martin is going to pull the trigger of not. Martin doesn’t know either. Suddenly, Jonah’s face softens slightly, morphing into an expression Jon would wear while they were together in the safehouse. But this is Jonah, Jon was dead. Jon is dead. Martin’s mind struggles to hold onto that simple fact. It's hard. Jon, no Jonah, reaches for the gun almost delicately to take it off him. Martin looks in Jon’s eyes, the vibrant green betraying the face Martin wishes he could see one more time. Would be seeing everyday if Jon hadn’t died twice to save him. He knows what he has to do.

“I’m sorry Jon.”

Martin pulls the trigger. And Jon dies a third time.

The rest is a blur that Martin can’t remember too well. By the time his memory clears and the shock fades, he’s sitting on the doorstep to his apartment, Daisy bringing him a cup of tea. When he asks, she tells him that someone in the Institute heard the shot and came up to investigate. That they found him, and a bleeding and nearly dead Jonathan Sims cradled in his arms, eyes closed, the gun abandoned on the floor. Martin’s not even sure how he hasn’t been arrested by the police yet. He guesses it has something to do with Daisy and Section 31, but decides not to ask. She tells him how Georgie and Melanie managed to talk Helen into helping them find the centre, as Helen claimed something about it being not worth protecting anymore, and they’d finally ensured that Jonah Magnus would not be coming back. It was all over. They’d done it.

Looking out onto the nearly empty streets, Martin’s almost surprised how unchanged the world is. People still walk, cars still drive, and the sun still drops down on the distant horizon. It’s only him, dealing with the knowledge that Jonah showed him, and the face he wore right as Martin shot him. A flicker of a smile and hazel eyes glowing with love. Tea in his hands, he turns to look towards the afternoon sun and the row of buildings on the other side of the small park next to where he lived. Daisy, sitting beside him, leans against him as Martin starts crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still here, thanks for reading and sticking around to the end:) It means everything, especially the kudos and comments. You guys are the reason I keep putting my writing on here. I will admit, this ended up going in a completely different direction compared to the original plan. But it was fun to write. 
> 
> Also, I'm sorry Martin.


End file.
